Warning: This chapter contains scenes of violence that may be disturbing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

[All people in the Seventh Branch are fated to die alone]

Bai Zhun gently pinched his nose and turned his face away, frowning. Left with no choice, Huo Zhenye placed the paper servant girl in the courtyard.

As he stood the girl upright, a thought struck him—since that person could spy through the paper maid’s eye, then this eye must still be functional.

While pretending to adjust the paper figure’s posture, Huo Zhenye suddenly reached out and, with a “pop,” poked out the other eye too.

He wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but he thought he saw all the paper figures in the room tremble for a moment.

The entire room of paper figures turned eerily still. The paper and bamboo forms made no sound. From under the eaves, the glass wind chime made from a little soda bottle rang out chaotically—*ding ding dong dong*—in the breeze.

“I swept out that shop. Burned all the paper figures.”

Bai Zhun rolled his wheelchair into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out a tangerine soda.

Huo Zhenye followed him in. “Who was it?” he asked while taking the soda, biting off the cap with his teeth, and handing it back to Bai Zhun.

Bai Zhun took a sip—cool and refreshing. He squinted and let out a small burp. “My senior brother.”

“You have a senior brother?” Huo Zhenye was surprised. With Bai Zhun’s prickly personality, he hadn’t imagined him having any fellow disciples.

“I joined late. When Master took me in, he was already capable of working independently. A few years after I became a disciple, he left to make his own way in the world.”

“Then why are you the branch master?”

Bai Zhun narrowed his eyes. “Because I’m better.”

Huo Zhenye rubbed his nose. He figured he shouldn’t have asked.

“He came back once,” Bai Zhun continued, a faint smile curling at the corners of his lips as if recalling something. “My senior brother used to be really kind to me.”

Back then, Bai Zhun had just joined the Seventh Branch and knew nothing. But Master had already opened his eyes, so he could see those things.

The Seventh Branch managed the balance of yin and yang, comforting restless spirits. Their Master was a hopeless do-gooder who helped any ghost that came knocking—so their nights were anything but peaceful. Ghosts that had hanged themselves floated at the windows, drowned souls drifted in the water jars.

“At the time, we lived in the countryside, surrounded by farmland. Other houses had thresholds; ours didn’t. Master didn’t want to inconvenience them.”

In rural places, if you heard knocking late at night—*tok tok tok*—you absolutely shouldn’t open the door. It might be a ghost trying to “test the threshold.”

Huo Zhenye was about to ask what “they” meant when he caught himself and just let out a long breath.

“You know what kind of ghost is the most annoying?”

Huo Zhenye wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. “You tell me.”

“Tuberculosis ghosts. Coughing nonstop—and every time they cough, they send out a chill.” Bai Zhun hated the cold and always carried a small hand warmer with him.

His tone was clearly disdainful, yet tinged with a kind of fondness. Huo Zhenye figured Bai Zhun must have truly cherished that time in his life.

“It was him who led me into the sect,” Bai Zhun said. “He was seventeen then, stayed up with me at night, and would sometimes buy me candy figures at the market.”

“And then?” Huo Zhenye asked, his tone a bit dry.

“He was supposed to be out training for half a year, but didn’t come back for a long time. When he did return, he had a huge fight with Master, then stormed off on his own.”

“Why?”

Bai Zhun shook his head. “I don’t know. Master never told me—not even before he died.” He inherited the Seventh Branch and thought, at the very least, his senior brother would come back to light incense at Master’s altar. But he never did.

This was why, when Liu Er said he wanted to burn incense and kowtow to Master Han, Bai Zhun was willing to draw a face for him.

Bai Zhun rolled his bamboo wheelchair up to the courtyard, his gaze dark as he looked at the paper figure of the Qing Dynasty maid. He raised a hand and said, “Burn it.”

Huo Zhenye lit the paper maid. Her green top and red trousers crackled softly in the flames, as if the sound of burning cloth mimicked the rustle of fabric. With a few sharp pops, she split in two and crumbled into ash.

The sun slipped lower in the sky, its last light vanishing behind the eaves of the Chenghuang Temple’s main hall. Bai Zhun passed through the temple gates.

The temple keeper, dressed in a blue robe, was already waiting for him. He greeted Bai Zhun respectfully: “Seventh Master, everything is ready. Sorry to trouble you.”

Bai Zhun gave a slight nod. “Got it.”

The temple keeper glanced curiously at Huo Zhenye trailing behind. Every year, during the third ritual cycle, the paper offerings were always made by Seventh Master himself. Why had he brought someone else this time?

But since Bai Zhun didn’t explain, the temple keeper didn’t ask further. “We’ve prepared enough fine wax candles for you. There’s a stove with hot water under the corridor. Everything’s clean.” With that, he headed down the corridor, leaving the front hall.

The open area in front of the main hall was already set up with a paper-and-bamboo altar. A long, thin candle stood upright on the offering table. Oil lamps had been lit all around the eaves. Candlelight flickered inside and out, casting overlapping shadows.

Huo Zhenye pushed Bai Zhun up beside the paper materials. “What can I help with?”

Bai Zhun pointed at the bamboo strips on the ground. “Split bamboo slivers.”

“Is that useful?”

“Not really. Just for you to practice. You’re an apprentice—want to get involved in offerings for the gods already?”

Tch. What, did he think his hands were too clumsy? Even old man Huo had praised his carving work.

Still, Huo Zhenye quietly bent down, picked up a bamboo knife, and imitated Bai Zhun’s movements to split a bamboo sliver.

Bai Zhun rolled over to the incense burner, lit incense to pay respect to the gods, then used the incense to light the long candle. The flickering light cast a circle of illumination on the open ground—right around Bai Zhun himself.

He began with the long bamboo strips—building the frame.

In Bai Zhun’s hands, the bamboo seemed to come alive, bending and twisting according to his will. Strip by strip, they wove together, forming a base and body frame.

Once the bamboo skeleton was finished, it was time to create the silk robe.

Paper offerings for deities didn’t use regular paper, but fine silk gauze. Clouds and talismans were drawn on, gold foil applied for shimmer. The silk robes were the most labor-intensive part.

Huo Zhenye sat on the stone steps, splitting bamboo as he looked up at Bai Zhun. Inside the circle of soft light, Bai Zhun’s fingertips moved quickly, his gaze devout.

It was as if he would merge with that circle of light. Aside from the wind and the flame, there was no other sound.

Huo Zhenye licked his lips, then broke the silence. “Wanna drink hot chocolate milk?”

Bai Zhun had just picked up the silk gauze. Hearing Huo Zhenye’s voice startled him out of his daze. At this point in the ritual, the front hall was usually deathly quiet. Other than the altar lights, he was always alone.

He turned to look at Huo Zhenye. “Sure.”

Huo Zhenye lit the stove and boiled milk, tossing in two squares of chocolate. Soon the sweet aroma of chocolate wafted from the kettle lid, mingling with and softening the heavy scent of sandalwood in the hall.

He poured a small cup and handed it to Bai Zhun. Bai Zhun cupped it in both hands, took a little sip, and even before he drank, he already felt warm all over.

Only then did he realize how cold his fingertips had become. Even the soft blanket over his knees couldn’t block the wind that swept through the corridors. The warmth spread from his mouth through his limbs, better than alcohol.

Bai Zhun narrowed his eyes in satisfaction. “This works better than ginger tea. I’ll drink this from now on.” During the rituals of Qingming ^[1] Tomb-Sweeping Day and the Tenth Moon Festival ^[2] Xia Yuan Festival (下元节), which falls on the 15th day of the 10th lunar month—early spring and late autumn—the chill was bone-deep. He’d always had to drink ginger tea to stay warm, pinching his nose every time.

Chocolate really was something magical.

Seeing Bai Zhun so content, Huo Zhenye chuckled lightly and picked up a crab-claw brush ^[3] https://www.google.com/search?q=%E8%9F%B9%E7%88%AA%E7%AC%94 from the altar. “So, the silk robes—do you paint them just like the ones on the statue?”

Bai Zhun’s fingers tightened slightly on the cup. He watched as Huo Zhenye unknowingly stepped into the circle of light. The glow didn’t dim—instead, it grew even brighter.

Bai Zhun was surprised, his pale fingertips wrapped around the warm cup. He blew on it gently, like blowing on tea. “You’ve painted deity statues before?”

Huo Zhenye, seeing Bai Zhun hadn’t objected, unfurled the fine silk and laid it out along the side corridors. First, he brushed it thoroughly with alum water. Only after the silk dried completely did he begin to paint and apply color. Once the painting was finished, he would seal it with another layer.

The paint wouldn’t fade, and the silk wouldn’t crack.

“I have.” Every year he painted—for Old Madam Huo and the eldest madam. All the women in the house worshipped Guanyin, and the Guanyin image he painted was Old Madam Huo’s favorite.

Once the silk robe was wrapped over the bamboo frame, even a single thread of the colored lines couldn’t be out of place. Huo Zhenye crawled up onto the bamboo scaffolding, a palette of pigments in hand, and brushes of various sizes tucked between his fingers, carefully painting the paper-and-bamboo deity statue, stroke by stroke.

Seeing that he was actually painting quite well, Bai Zhun poured himself another cup of hot chocolate milk. He lazily blew on the surface and sank back into the goose-feather pillows. No wonder masters are so eager to take on disciples.

Around them, the candle flames flickered in the breeze. Inside the hall, the wooden statue of Chenghuang bore a benevolent expression and lowered gaze.

When Huo Zhenye finished painting the ceremonial robe and had just climbed down from the bamboo frame, the thin wax candle on the altar burned down to the end. The flame sputtered out, and the circle of light vanished.

“That’s enough. Let’s go home.” Bai Zhun reluctantly finished the last sip of his hot chocolate milk.

It was already pitch dark outside. In the old quarter, the families were too frugal to use electric lights, so the whole area was black as ink—stretch out your hand and you couldn’t see your fingers.

A small square lantern hung in front of Bai Zhun’s wheelchair. Huo Zhenye pushed him from behind through a narrow, stone-paved alleyway. The warm glow from the lantern moved slowly forward. The wind blew around them, but somehow it didn’t feel cold at all.

From above Bai Zhun’s head, Huo Zhenye muttered, “We’ve got to come again tomorrow. How about I bring you a rocking chair next time? You can nap while I’m painting the robes.”

“Just hot milk isn’t going to be enough. Maybe I should call over that girl who sells sweet rice wine—she keeps it warm over a little stove. You can eat some whenever you want.”

Bai Zhun was already dozing off. Huo Zhenye looked down and saw his eyes were closed.

They hadn’t yet reached the main gate when they spotted a tall, thin figure standing outside. The man wore a long robe and a soft felt hat. At the sound of the wheelchair, he turned to look at them from the shadows.

Bai Zhun frowned slightly, staring at the man.

“Junior Brother,” the man took a few steps closer, removed his hat, and smiled at Bai Zhun. Underneath the black hat, he still looked young—his skin was snow-pale, the kind of pale that made a person look like a sheet of colorless paper.

Even the whites of his eyes were a shade lighter than most people’s. “It’s been a long time.”

Bai Zhun’s pupils shrank slightly. The man, however, just smiled at him gently, looking at him with a tolerant gaze—as if already prepared to accept any accusation or reproach.

Huo Zhenye’s heart felt damp and oppressive, like a cloudy day turning to rain, with waves of emotion bubbling up.

“Come in,” Bai Zhun said, pushing the gate open and heading inside.

In the middle of the night, Young Master Huo was squatting in the courtyard, burning charcoal briquettes to heat water for tea for the two inside.

He wore a dark expression, fanning the stove furiously with a paper fan while trying to eavesdrop on the conversation from the house. What old stories could they possibly be reminiscing about in the dead of night!

“Junior Brother, your skill is truly exquisite.” Bai Li looked at the room full of paper figures, his tone filled with sincere praise.

“Since you’re back, you ought to burn a stick of incense for Master.”

Bai Li shook his head. “Master wouldn’t want to see me. That’s why I came quietly, not to disturb you.”

“You broke the sect rules.” Bai Zhun frowned at him. “You shouldn’t have made paper figures for the couple Song Fusheng.”

Bai Li still wore his gentle, unhurried expression. He lowered his lashes. “I told them not to paint the eyes. I also told them how to resolve it.”

Song Fusheng had indeed said so.

Bai Zhun frowned. That paper spirit had killed four people—three of them deserved it, one was killed by backlash—but it had all started with Bai Li.

Bai Li continued, “It was my fault. But the mother cried so bitterly… I couldn’t bear it.”

Bai Zhun fixed his gaze on him, then after a long silence finally said, “Mrs. Song volunteered to be sacrificed. Though she didn’t become a vengeful spirit, she still needs to be properly laid to rest.”

“I’ve already done that. I’ll carry the karma,” Bai Li replied, then smiled. “I just came to see if you’re doing well. Whether you can keep the Seventh Branch standing. You look like you’re doing great. I’ll leave the city tomorrow.”

“Where are you going?”

“To the countryside. I like it there. Even funerals are lively.”

Just then, Huo Zhenye entered carrying a tea tray. He gave Bai Li a cup of tea and handed Bai Zhun a cup of hot milk with a bit of honey stirred in. “It’s too late for tea. You won’t be able to sleep.”

Young Master Huo’s tone, of course, was stiff and cold.

Bai Li looked surprised. He glanced at Bai Zhun, then at Huo Zhenye. Bai Zhun hadn’t shown much reaction, but under Bai Li’s gaze, the tips of his ears reddened slightly. Bai Li chuckled softly.

Bai Zhun gripped his cup and shooed Huo Zhenye away. “Don’t interrupt me while I’m speaking with your senior uncle.”

Only after Huo Zhenye ground his teeth and walked out did Bai Zhun ask, “What about Mrs. Song’s skin?”

“Burned,” Bai Li replied. “I burned it in front of her spirit tablet—laid her to rest.” As he spoke, he took a sip of tea. Ugh, bitter.

“Why did you argue with Master back then?”

“I met someone I liked and wanted to marry her. I came back to tell Master, but he said those of the Seventh Branch are fated to be alone, and I shouldn’t ruin a girl’s life.” Bai Li’s voice grew quieter and quieter. “So when that mother begged me, I couldn’t refuse.”

“Don’t ever do something like that again. Even if it’s you, I won’t show mercy.” Bai Zhun finished off his milk in one go.

“Alright.” Bai Li glanced toward the hall, where Huo Zhenye was sneaking around awkwardly. “Ah Zhun, I couldn’t protect the one I cared about. You must protect yours.”

Bai Zhun pressed his lips together but didn’t reply.

Even when they were washing up for bed, Huo Zhenye was still sulking.

When Bai Zhun lay down, he tapped the bamboo bed with a knuckle. “What? You want to sleep here too?”

Huo Zhenye rolled right under the blanket and shot back, “What? You can sleep with your senior brother, but I can’t sleep with my master?”

Bai Zhun turned over and ignored him. After a long silence, with the light blown out, Huo Zhenye asked again, “If you’re really worried, do you want to follow him and see where he’s going?”

Bai Zhun didn’t reply, but the next morning, Huo Zhenye still made a phone call to Da Tou. Bai Li was staying in the back alley of San Guan Tang Road. He asked him to check if he’d moved out.

Da Tou called back to report, “Young Master Huo, yes, a man moved out. He even took a coffin with him.”

Author’s note:
Seventh Young Master · Missed the part he should’ve eavesdropped on · Hou